Friday, January 4, 2013

I Have a Dream, Bitches

I’m sitting on a beach. I don’t care which beach. All I know
is it’s warm, it’s breezy, and there are none of those disgusting sea onions
lying around. I hate those things.

I'm sure they're not actually called sea onions.But by any name they make me want to throw upif I step on them.

But there are lots of hermit crabs scuttling across the
sand. Because I like hermit crabs.

I’m in a lounge chair. I’m in the world’s most comfortable
lounge chair. I’m looking smoking hot in a bikini

SHUT UP THIS IS MY DREAM OK?

and since this is
my dream, maybe the hermit crabs could be singing. Maybe they could be singing
old Dr. Hook songs, because I’m really into old Dr. Hook songs right now.

Hook, claw, whatever.

Anyway, the sun is shining, the waves are lapping, and I’m
slowly baking to a golden brown in my comfy lounge chair. Am I alone? Why no,
I am not.

To my left, Johnny Depp is slicing fresh pineapples with a
machete and feeding me the pieces. He’s wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt
and a Speedo. Also, I’m not having the allergic reaction I often have to fresh
pineapple where my lips itch and my throat closes up. My dream.

To my right, Hugh Jackman is reading e.e. cummings poems to
me. He’s wearing a tuxedo. I just think he looks sexier that way. Oh, and his
Wolverine claw is on one hand, so he can gently scratch me when I itch.

I’m drinking fresh pineapple juice…you know, because the
pineapples are right there. No alcohol. Are you kidding? I’m on a beach being
fawned over by Johnny Depp and Hugh Jackman – could booze make me feel any
better? No. No, it could not.

I couldn't find a picture of Johnny Depp in a Speedo,so you'll have to look at him shirtless. Sorry.

So the day is fine and the crabs are singing “Sylvia’s
Mother,” except when I snap my fingers they fall silent. Because the ability to
get complete silence on command is every mother’s dream. Then all I can hear
are the waves caressing the shore, and the breeze ruffling the palm trees that
line the beach, and sound of pelicans making whatever the hell sound pelicans
make. There are no seagulls on my dream-beach. Noisy winged vermin, they are.

Maybe I sleep. Without worrying that I should keep one eye
open in case someone decides to rifle through my stuff and steal my wallet. No
one is going to do that. Because I’ve got
Wolverine right here. Also because I didn’t bring a wallet. I have no need
of ID here. I’m nameless, blameless, and shameless. Ask Johnny Depp.

Oh, and I can reach down and pick up passing kittens
whenever I feel like it. My beach has kittens. Who never, ever use the sand as
their litter box.

Pelicans and kittens. Hell, yeah.

Eventually I pick up my left-handed Gibson, and of course in
my dream I know more than four chords and don’t have to look at the frets for
the changes. I improvise a melody; something a little folky, a little jazzy, a
little bluesy – in A, why not. Johnny Depp starts to sing, weaving the words of
e.e. cummings into the tune. The hermit crabs add harmony. Hugh Jackman strips
to his shorts and runs into the ocean, then swims out with smooth, powerful strokes.
I don’t know what happens to him after that.

But now I’m alone with Johnny Depp on the beach.

My subconscious is happy to report that he’s a masterful
lover. Very tender, and never once digs a knee or elbow into my side. And he
smells like toasted coconut.

And marshmallow? Sure, why not?

Afterwards, we’re looking at a spectacular sunset. You know,
when we’re not gazing into each other’s eyes. Me and Johnny Depp, who are
snuggled together on a lounge chair and it’s not at all cramped and awkward
because it’s the most comfortable lounge chair in the world and also magically
gets bigger to accommodate me and Johnny Depp.

Just when I think I couldn’t get any happier or more
content, he reaches behind his lean, bronzed torso and produces a handful of
Snickers Peanut Butter Squared, which he lets fall on my lap. Then with a puff
of smoke he transforms into Bestest Friend, and we spend the rest of the
evening eating Snickers and pre-sliced pineapple surrounded by kittens and no men.